Answers To The Past
by keishagirl1
Summary: A group of mysterious travelers arrive at the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii with long-sought answers regarding Ayla's past.
1. Strangers Sighted

Dawn broke over the home of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. The sun sent its golden ribbons streaming across the lush plains, skipping across little bubbling brooks, glistening off the lively water. A large, shaggy wolf emerged from a stone shelter, trotting down a sprawling plane of hay-colored grass in chase of a seasonal cottontail rabbit. Two sturdy, thick-boned prairie horses, one with a hide colored to match the color of the grass and another with a coat the color of wet red ochre, moseyed out of a nearby natural shelter of willow trees and approached the stream to take a morning drink.  
A tall girl of about six years old crept out from the overhanging stone shelter of the Ninth Cave. She brushed a tangled lock of light, wavy blonde hair from her startlingly blue eyes, reveling in the peaceful beauty of the dawn. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the sweet, pure scent of morning air. Somewhere in a nearby thicket, a fight broke out between two nesting finch families, sending their feuding twitters to the little girl's ears. She smiled, perceiving the sound as a musical sound appropriate to this solitary morning scene.  
A movement in the grass caught her eye, and she smiled when she noticed the wolf chasing a rabbit. Her hand automatically found the slim, supple thong of leather tied to the belt around her waist, but she released it, decided to allow the wolf his morning pleasure. Instead, she scouted for other game.  
Her pulse raced when she detected a pure white ermine with a black- tipped tail; it reminded her of a tunic the father of her hearth had once shown her from when he was mated to her mother. The tunic, which was colored in a purest shad of white, a truly stunning work of art, given the amount of work put into such a creation, but she could believe that her mother had made it. Her mother, in her mind, could create or do anything, and was probably the most renowned member of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, with the possible exception of The First Among Those Who Serve The Mother.  
Her hand once again tightened around the pliable leather thong, this time withdrawing it. She reached into a leather pouch hanging at her waist from her belt and withdrew a round stone, one of many that she had found by the stream. She fit it into the thong, raised her arm, and released. A loud, sickening tap told her that the stone had found its mark, and when she approached, she found the ermine lying dead.  
Grinning with triumph, she walked down the grassy bank to the stream, where she withdrew several flint tools that her father had painstakingly carved for her. They all had a glossy, almost oily black finish, that made them seem alive, seemed to give them their own spirit. Her father had said that heating stone in fire gave them this quality, and, as he had demonstrated, made knapping the flint much easier. Turning the tools over in her hand for a moment, she pondered what power Doni had given fire that the licking flames could transfer a spirit into stone. The thought dissipated as she focused on the ermine and how her mother had taught her to skin and gut the mammal.  
The tool she used to slit the animal's belly was a bifacially knapped blade, with a dulled cylindrical end to serve as a handle that would not cut the user's hand. The sharp blade made a clean red line from the neck all the way down to the animal's anus, and she dug under the animal's skin with the blade as an ad lib form of skinning. Finally, she peeled the white hide off the carcass, and set it aside on the grass as she gutted the ermine. The intestines and other organs were too small to be of any use, so she tossed them to the other side of the stream, where they would not attract any carnivores and endanger her work.  
She used a scraper to remove excess fat, skin, and blood vessels from the interior of the hide, except this one was different from the knife in that its blade was curved, and was perpendicular to the handle, rather than the knife blade, which was parallel. She had just finished ridding the hide of the unwanted particles when, by chance, she looked up and noticed a peculiar sight. A large group of people about half a mile away down the wide slope, perhaps twenty or thirty in number, was approaching the Ninth Cave, each covered in light, sturdy traveling clothes. Most of the group was made up of women, a few of whom grasped the hands of small children as the youngsters dogged the adults' footsteps. The rest of the group was male, about nine or ten burly men clutching heavy spears. To the young child, they were armed and unfamiliar, and therefore threatening. Frightened, she stuffed the tools back into place and grabbed the ermine carcass and hide, and ran up the slope. She made a shrill whistle in imitation of her mother's, summoning the wolf and horses to return to their homes, to safety. Each animal raised its head in response, ears pricked. The horses, more in the mood to graze in the nourishing field, nickered in a disgruntled manner, but they were too conditioned to the familiar whistle not to obey. They trotted back to their lean-to while the wolf bounded through the grass, muzzle stained from his morning meal, tongue lagging in pleasure that he had been recognized and summoned by the offspring of the leader of his pack.  
She stopped by the community fire pit and breathlessly tossed the bloody carcass and unfinished hide over near the pile of other Zelandonii projects. From among the few people who were already up, she was relieved to find her mother preparing her father's morning mint tea.  
"Mother," she called, rushing to the familiar woman and throwing her arms around the leather-covered leg. "People are coming up the hill. Many people, two or three casts of a stone away!"  
"Jonayla?" her mother replied, frowning in confusion. She knelt down and looked into her daughter's eyes, the deep-blue eyes whose color was matched only by those of the father of her hearth, and by a great wall of deep, pure ice she had once seen, years ago. "Who's coming?" she asked in consternation, running her fingers through the girl's wavy blonde hair.  
"People. Come look!" Jonayla grasped her mother's hand, dragging her insistently to the edge of the stone shelter.  
Ayla gazed down across the field, and was startled to see a large group of people approaching the shelter of the Ninth Cave. She stood for a moment, thinking, then looked down at her terrified daughter.  
"Jonayla, go wake up Joharran. Tell him what you just saw; I'll wake up Jondalar and tell him," Ayla said urgently, and added "Quickly!" as she watched her daughter scramble through the stone shelter. She returned to her own dwelling.  
"Jondalar, wake up," she called. The blonde, incredibly handsome man opened his eyes, frowning slightly, to look at the woman who was his mate. "Strangers are approaching the Ninth Cave. I just sent Jonayla to wake up Joharran, help me get some spears." She knelt down before one of the leather screens that separated her dwelling from the one next to their own, rummaging through the weapons.  
"Huh? What's going on?" he asked foggily, pulling on his light summer garments.  
"Jonayla was out this morning, and noticed a group of twenty, maybe thirty strangers approaching the Cave. I want to be prepared, so I sent her to get Joharran."  
"Strangers? What strangers?"  
"Strangers." She straightened up, equipped with two spears. She gave one to Jondalar, and found her familiar leather sling. She tied it around her waist, and left the dwelling. 


	2. Who Are They?

Ayla strode out of her family's dwelling, meeting Joharran as she entered the community hearth. They greeted each other with shared looks of concern, and Joharran reached down to grasp Jonayla's hand as the little girl frantically struggled to pull him toward the mouth of the cave.  
  
Jondalar emerged from the dwelling, carrying the spear that Ayla had given him. He caught up with the three; consternation etched through his worry lines.  
  
"Where are these strangers coming from?" he asked in a deep, rich tenor voice, husky from grogginess. His gaze swept the landscape, resting on the migrating group. "Oh, I see them."  
  
"Perhaps we should greet them," Ayla suggested unsurely. Jonayla whimpered, and tugged her hand from Joharran's grip to rush to her mother's leg. "They don't look especially dangerous."  
  
"But why would a group of travelers be approaching our Cave just after the break of dawn?" Joharran wondered, his face etched with lines almost identical to those of his little brother's. Ayla glanced at him, noting the similarity between Joharran and her mate. "Normally, hunting or nomadic groups wait until midday to begin traveling. Unless they had reason for rising early. I wonder who they are."  
  
"I will go find out," Ayla said decisively. She readjusted the positioning of the spear in her hand so its presence would be made apparent, if not overtly threatening. Instinct from a childhood with the Clan told her that these people were probably not one to be feared, but knowledge acquired from years living alone and more years with Jondalar and his family warned her to be on her guard.  
  
Jonayla burst into tears. "Mother, don't go. Please, don't go, Mother," she wailed, clutching the leg of the woman who personified the ultimate protection.  
  
"Jonayla, I'll be fine. Do not worry about me," Ayla instructed, detaching her daughter from the leather-clad leg. She clutched her spear but felt an icy recognition when her daughter called for her, screaming, "Motherrrr!" It was a name Ayla had screamed many times in her nightmares, to wake up in sweaty furs and an infinitely painful sense of loss. She almost doubled back when she heard the cry, but cleared her head and continued toward the strangers.  
  
When she believed she was in earshot of the travelers, she called out a greeting to them. The apparent leader, a tall, shapely, and decidedly attractive woman, waved an arm and replied with a greeting in an unfamiliar language. Intrigued, Ayla progressed down a flight of stone steps carved by the Zelandonii as a route to the overlying stone shelter.  
  
She immediately realized that these people were unlike any she had ever met on her travels with Jondalar, which was remarkable because it had felt like they had traveled over Doni's entire life-giving Earth. The majority of the people were fair-haired, although a few of the adults had dark brown hair, and all were fair-skinned. Every person wore an outfit that seemed to Ayla as though it had been constructed of light summer pants and a light summer tunic, except the tunic's sleeves and a large portion of the chest had been removed. Around each person's waist, an intricately woven and colorfully dyed leather belt had been tied with great precision. What Ayla found remarkable was the complete lack of decoration on the tunic or pants, and that all the decoration seemed to have been focused upon creation of the belts. Ayla had been raised by a people who chose to leave material creations completely devoid of decoration, preferring to let quality be its own decoration. However, since Ayla had become acquainted with the Others, as the Clan called the people who looked like herself, she had discovered their fondness of using dyes, quills, beads, and other natural resources, to embellish the appearance of daily household items. She discovered that she seemed to have found a happy medium, utilizing dyes and sparse other decorations to adorn her creations in order to bring out the natural quality of an object.  
  
Perceiving that these people need not be feared, Ayla readjusted her spear once more so that the tip pointed directly at the ground, and finally dropped it next to her when she reached the large group of people. She extended her hands to the woman in front, the leader. "I am Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, and in the name of Mut, Great Mother of All, I welcome you to the Ninth Cave of Zelandonii," she recited, not at all sure if the woman understood a word she said.  
  
The blank look on the tall woman's features confirmed her suspicion. She repeated her previous greeting, switching to Mamutoi. When that failed to elicit a response, she switched to Lanzadonii, Sharamudoi, and finally to S'Armunai. When these languages took the same effect as the first, she dropped her hands and turned around to give Jondalar and Joharran, who were still up in the stone shelter, a perplexed look.  
  
She tapped herself on the chest, annunciating the words "Ayla of the Zelandonii." She pointed at the woman.  
  
The woman nodded, understanding that particular universal mode of communication, and pointed to her own chest, reciting two names strung together in a sequence of syllables Ayla had never heard before, or in fact heard anything like. In the recitation, all she perceived were two names she suspected to be the most important, "Daloia" and "Daneludoi".  
  
Ayla smiled, confident now that these strangers were a friendly people, and gestured for them to follow her. However, she stopped and cringed when she heard a growl, and whirled around to see Wolf bounding toward the huddled group of travelers, hackles raised and fangs bared. Ayla put an arm out to restrain the unfamiliar people from attacking the threatening wolf and called out in reassurance, while signaling Wolf to return to the shelter of the Cave. In extreme reluctance, the wolf turned around and returned back up the stone steps, where he was greeted with a clutch from Jonayla With a smile of encouragement at the deeply shaken strangers and a look that reassured their safety, she beckoned again and led them up the slope to the stone steps.  
  
"Ayla?" Joharran inquired, frowning at the group of people, who had begun to shift fidget nervously.  
  
"These are the Daneludoi," she replied, indicating the large group as a whole. "And this is Daloia, their leader," she added, gesturing to the head woman.  
  
She glanced at the group when she heard a woman gasp. Searching the faces, she found a strangely familiar face framed by long blonde hair when it turned red with embarrassment and looked down.  
  
Puzzled, she resumed her dialogue with the Zelandonii leader. "I've never heard of these people, so they must have come from a very, very long way off. They look like they're well stocked for a long journey, but nonetheless I believe we should offer them some shelter, at least for a little while."  
  
"The first thing we need to do is learn some of each other's language," Joharran declared. "Then we can determine who they are, and where they came from. Ayla, Jondalar, since Willomar is on the mammoth hunting party, you two are the only ones who are familiar interacting with strangers. Can I trust you to accommodate them in the community hearth?"  
  
"Of course, Joharran," Ayla replied, smiling warmly at the tall leader. Jondalar's frown deepened; he wasn't sure if he was comfortable interacting with a large group of people he hadn't already met. Other members of the Ninth Cave had already emerged from their dwellings, and were staring at the large gathering of people.  
  
Ayla looked at Jondalar and sensed his discomfort. "Jondalar, would you take Jonayla back to the dwelling, please?" she requested. "I think she's in some distress." Indeed, her daughter's eyes were stretched wide with terror in the presence of so many unfamiliar faces.  
  
"Certainly," Jondalar said, his face clearing with grateful relief. He swept up Jonayla and lifted her over his shoulder, where she clung, shaking uncontrollably.  
  
Ayla returned her attention to the audience. Smiling again, she led them all to the center of the community hearth. Noticing several staring onlookers, she called, "Don't mind these people. They're weary travelers and they need a place to rest. However," she added, noticing Lanoga, an adolescent girl whose sister, Lorala, Ayla had helped save the life of when she noticed the malnourished infant and arranged for mothers of the Ninth Cave to breastfeed the baby in turn. She called the girl.  
  
"Lanoga, please send for Zelandoni," she instructed. She turned once again back to the waiting group of people, some of whom had begun to gaze around at the stone surroundings in interest. She gestured for them to sit down, and they obliged. Looking at the leader, she stated, "I think we'll enjoy getting to know each other, and learning each other's languages." She realized that the woman had not understood a word she uttered, but she could tell that the foreigner had understood the tone and her expression belayed returned friendliness. Ayla smiled back, looking forward to the upcoming evening. 


	3. Daloia of the Daneludoi

"I am astonished at how quickly you have learned to speak the basics of the tongue of the Daneludoi," Daloia commented. "I have never met anyone before with such a knack for picking up on a language. How long have you lived with the Zelandonii?"  
  
"I am here for only seven summers. Until my fifteenth summer, I live far, far away, with people who dwell beyond end of Great River. Three years after I leave people, I meet Jondalar, and we spend three years traveling to home of Zelandonii. Jonayla, my daughter, is born seven years ago in Ninth Cave, and Ayla live here since."  
  
The Ninth Cave had grown dark as night fell, and increasing numbers of people had begun retreating into their dwellings as a moonless night covered the Zelandonii territory. Far from tired, however, Ayla had decided to camp with Daloia and the rest of the Daneludoi, and the two women had chosen to remain awake, talking for hours about their peoples' separate customs. Ayla found what Daloia told her about the Daneludoi to be a fascinating description of a unique people, and although she could not remember ever hearing of these people who dwelt by the Great Ocean that Ayla had once heard about from Willomar, who was the chief trader for the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. Strangely, however, she had a peculiar feeling that she had seen an outfit closely resembling, if not identical to, the outfits worn by the Daneludoi people.  
  
Daloia found herself intrigued by this woman more than she had ever been intrigued by anyone else. Ayla had described to her in detail the different cultures of the peoples she had met, including those of the Mamutoi, the Sharamudoi, the S'Armunai, the Losadunai, the Lanzadonii, and of course the Zelandonii. She had been intrigued as well when the same tall, exceedingly handsome blonde man whom she had seen before, approached their camping site with a platter of bison meat and cups of tea for both women. However, she guessed by the look shared between Ayla and the man that he was not by any means available.  
  
The woman had a strangely familiar look, too. Daloia knew a couple women in her tribe who looked similar to Ayla, plus one woman who had eyes that were almost identical to those of the Zelandonii woman. Most intriguing of all, however, was the manner of speaking which this woman named Ayla used; in her pleasantly low, rich voice, the woman possessed certain peculiar mannerisms that could not quite be labeled as an accent. She had noticeable difficulty pronouncing certain sounds, and certain syllables were annunciated in a guttural fashion, almost as though the woman swallowed the sounds as she spoke them. The woman possessed an unmistakably foreign presence, yet an appearance and aura that seemed strangely familiar. Wasn't the name Ayla not uncommon to some of those used by the Daneludoi? "You say you lived with a people living on a peninsula, Ayla. How many years ago was that?" Daloia wanted to know.  
  
Ayla tapped her finger against her jawbone, thinking. "I am five years when found, fourteen years when leave, eighteen when meet Jondalar, twenty- one when come to Zelandonii, now twenty-eight. Five years from twenty- eight, and fourteen from twenty-eight.I begin life with Clan twenty-three years ago, Daloia, and end life fourteen years ago. I live with Clan ten years."  
  
"How interesting. I don't believe I've ever heard of these Clan people. What language do they speak?"  
  
"They not speak.with words. Speak with signs and hand gestures, and more. Clan speaks without speaking," Ayla tried to explain.  
  
Daloia was confused. "They speak without speaking? How do they do that?" "I not know how to explain. The Clan not learn in way of Others.Zelandonii, Mamutoi, Daneludoi," she attempted to clarify. "Clan have memories. Clan born with memories, must learn from elders. Clan speak by moving hands, and more." She did not know how to explain that subtle posture, the glance of an eye, the twitching of a limb, could convey messages within messages to a person of the Clan. She could not clarify with her limited Daneludoi vocabulary that the Clan relied on body language to communicate rather than spoken words, although a few spoken words were incorporated into the Clan's dialogue for emphasis.  
  
"That's very strange," Daloia commented, frowning. "What do your Clan people look like?"  
  
"Clan people what you call flatheads." Ayla noticed Daloia's eyes widen in shock, but chose to ignore it and pressed on. "Many people think Clan animals, but Clan is human. Clan is human, different from Others."  
  
"I always thought there was something peculiar about flatheads," the woman replied with conviction. "They didn't seem like the animals everyone said they were. People claimed they were bear-like creatures, clever bears."  
  
"Clan people not animals, not bears," Ayla insisted.  
  
"What you say makes sense, Ayla, and I believe you," Daloia agreed. "I've never seen a bear use spears to hunt rabbits, or wear hides to protect themselves from the cold. It's true what you say, flat-Clan people, are very different from-what did you say? the Others?"  
  
"Clan call people like you and me, Others," Ayla affirmed.  
  
"Yes. They're very different, I give you that. But I always had the suspicion they were human, not animals like people say they are. What you tell me explains a lot." Daloia's face contained a mixture of revelation at this discovery and self-satisfaction that she alone had been right this whole time. "So tell me.how did you come to live with this Clan?"  
  
"When am very small, five summers old, family die in earthquake," Ayla recounted with a deep shudder and a chill as she remembered the sickening, desperate feeling of infinitely painful loss that she had felt twenty-three years ago and countless times since in nightmares. "I almost die, almost starve and am almost killed by cave lion," she stated, pulling up her light nighttime tunic to show Daloia the four parallel gashes on her left thigh.  
  
"Those do look nasty, and cave lion claws have a tendency to fester," Daloia observed. To herself, she thought, Ayla must have been a remarkable child, surviving near starvation and nearly being hunted by a cave lion.  
  
"Yes. I am near stream when Clan find me, not awake.unconscious," she clarified. "Iza, Clan medicine woman, find me almost dead. She ask Brun, can she take me along, Brun not refuse, Iza pick me up and I travel with Clan until Clan find cave," she finished.  
  
"That's a remarkable story," Daloia observed. "Where did you say they found you?"  
  
"I not know. I wander for days, no food, no water, have fever when Iza find me." Ayla was overcome by a sudden wave of frustration; she had never thought to wonder where she had been when the Clan found her. She had been weak and delirious with fever, completely unaware of her surroundings and unable to determine her location.  
  
Daloia yawned abruptly, and Ayla realized how late it was. "Look at night," the Zelandonii woman remarked. "Moon gone, all dark. Cannot see beyond ledge."  
  
"I know," Daloia agreed, her voice suddenly husky with the night. "I think it's time we got some sleep. I will talk to you again in the morning Ayla."  
  
"Good night, Daloia," Ayla replied, her smile lost in the dark. Lowering herself into her furs, she pushed herself forward to edge into the comfort of leather bed clothing, unbelievably soft and pliable, since it had been cured with nothing more than animal tallow in the style of the Clan. She felt the dark coolness of the night slide over her, lulling her into a deep sleep.  
  
Daloia rested comfortably in her furs, pondering the conversation with Ayla. She began to remember a story told frequently at her Lodge about a family, a man, woman, and little girl (was it a boy?) who had departed on an expedition to scout for mammoths. Under normal circumstances, such journeys were for the purpose of hunting animals that traveled in herds and required extensive stalking, such as bison and antelope. The voyages usually resulted in the travelers returning with abundant stocks of smoked meat for all to enjoy, but occasionally people were lost to the uncontrollable and fearsome elements dealt by the Mother Nuda to her children when She was displeased.  
  
Suddenly she remembered a disastrous earthquake similar to the one Ayla had described, the aftershocks of which she had experienced as a little girl. Didn't she remember reports of a missing man, woman, and child after the terrifying experience? Her Lodge had dispatched a searching party for the three absentees, which lasted five days before everyone concluded that the mouth of Nuda had opened during the earthquake to swallow the bodies whole. All three were dead, everyone believed.  
  
Or were they? Daloia wondered with a shock. She bolted up suddenly, ignoring the leather bedclothes as they fell from her front. "Ayla!" she whispered.  
  
No reply came. The Zelandonii woman had fallen asleep. 


	4. One and the Same!

Ayla woke early the next morning, though sleep remained heavy upon her eyelids. She noticed Daloia a short distance away, covered in leather sheets despite the warmth of the previous night.  
  
The woman got up to search for her firestones to make tea and fix a morning meal for her guests. The visiting tribe, the Daneludoi, was still asleep, lying in a scattered fashion around the cooking hearth of the Ninth Cave.  
  
She found the firestones where she had left them the night before, in a small leather pouch by the fireside. The pouch was used to hold the iron pyrite nodules after an abundant supply was discovered by Jonayla near the Great Mother River many moons ago. Ayla knelt by the cooking hearth, withdrew a firestone from the small purse and found a nearby piece of flint, and within moments a fire crackled to life.  
  
Daloia stirred a short distance away, evidently emerging from a deep, rejuvenating sleep. Ayla glanced at her, and got up to find the caches of stored dried meat. She found a particularly inviting haunch of bison and brought it back to the cooking hearth. Daloia was sitting up just as the blonde woman set the meat on the fire.  
  
"Mmm..bison," the Daneludoi woman commented happily, noticing the roasting meat. "We saw some not far from here and tried to hunt them, but the Mother Nuda was evidently not in favor of this."  
  
"This bison is rather old," Ayla replied somewhat apologetically. "I find it over in caches, and it was too dark to differentiate between old meat and new. Should still be good."  
  
"Yes, it certainly smells that way." Daloia sat still for a moment, thinking. "Ayla, I was thinking last night. Where did you say you were when you lost your family, when you counted five years?"  
  
Ayla stiffened slightly. "I not remember," she replied truthfully. "Memories before I am found by Clan are all..gone. Gone." A shadow passed over her eyes.  
  
Daloia studied the woman. "Sometimes, when we experience something that is too painful for our spirits to handle, Muda causes us to forget them," she said wisely. "Sometimes it has been for better or for worse. My distant cousin had a daughter, then she died a few years after. The girl was old enough to know her mother and distinguish her from the other women, and when her mother died, she was devastated. If you ask the little girl about the necklace her mother made for her, she won't remember observing its construction, though she was there the entire time. However, she still has that necklace, and guards it with her life, though she doesn't know why herself."  
  
Ayla was staring at the ground. Yes, this did seem to make sense. In all the nightmares she kept having about an earthquake, she awoke with an infinitely painful sense of loss. Why did she continue to have these dreams? Was it because she lost her family?  
  
She looked up to see the Daneludoi studying her. "You are in luck," the foreign woman commented. "I am among the few leaders of the Daneludoi, or of any people that are the Great Earth Mother's children, who serves as both leader and Nudoi to her people. Much like a combination of Marthona and your Zelandoni," she added, referring to a conversation the two women had had the previous night about the customs, traditions, and hierarchy of their people.  
  
"As such," Daloia continued, "I am experienced in drawing out memories long forgotten to the spirit world, especially those that were claimed by Nuda for purposes such as yours."  
  
Ayla stared at her, suddenly frightened. Despite her immense curiosity to learn more about her past, she wasn't sure if she wanted to revisit memories causing such painful senses of loss.  
  
Daloia noticed her apprehension. "It will be painful for your spirit, and frightening," the Nudoi acknowledged with a bow of her head. "But it is a necessary ceremony if you are to achieve your full potential as a Zelandoni after you have completed your period of time as an acolyte to the First." Ayla had mentioned the night before that she had begun a period of servitude to the First Among Those Who Served The Mother about a year and a half ago. She still had three and a half years before she would complete her training and become a fully-fledged Zelandoni.  
  
Ayla swallowed. "What does this ceremony involve?"  
  
"I was lucky enough to bring with me a certain type of root that is used for extreme, even dangerous, magical purposes. It was given to us by Nuda so we could remember who we are and what we are doing here. It takes us back to the very beginning, when the Mother was still creating us, still giving birth to our children. I have even discovered that, with heavy doses of this root, I think I can feel the Mother as she fights for her golden son, Sunai, just before the great void reclaims him."  
  
Ayla shivered, remembering a similar-sounding root that she had accidentally ingested during a Clan ceremony, many years ago. "Yes, I know root like that," she agreed. "When I go to Clan Gathering - like Summer Meeting of Others - my mother, mother-woman, Iza, is too sick to go. She is sick with coughing disease.  
  
"I am not yet old enough to become medicine-woman, but I go with Clan anyway, because Clan need me," she continued. "At first, Mog-urs..like our Zelandoni, your Nudoi," Ayla clarified, "not want me. They not want me make..ceremonial drink from sacred white root. They say I not Clan. But Creb, greatest Mog-ur of all, convince them. I am allowed to make drink."  
  
"What were the effects of this drink?" Daloia asked with interest.  
  
Ayla's forehead became creased with concern, and shame. "I not supposed to drink liquid, is too sacred, woman not allowed in mog-ur ceremony." Without realizing it, she had lapsed into her old manner of speech, which included making noises similar to those used by the Clan. Daloia noticed how Ayla had trouble creating certain sounds, and the guttural nature of her words, as though she swallowed the syllables as she spoke them.  
  
"I swallow by accident, I not mean to," Ayla explained earnestly, as though she did not want Daloia to form a disapproving opinion of her. Daloia discerned that Ayla's actions had broken a very strong taboo among her Clan.  
  
"After I drink liquid, I become..confused. Dizzy," the Zelandonii woman continued. Daloia nodded, remembering similar effects brought on by her own similar root.  
  
"I find small cave, follow lights," Ayla prolonged. "Mog-urs are having ceremony, they not see me, but Creb knows. He feels me. Suddenly I am falling, I am in deep black void. Am frightened, would be lost. But Creb is very powerful Mog-ur, he save me, he take me on Journey through.." Ayla stopped, abruptly unsure as to how to continue. She did not understand how to explain the path she had taken, how to describe her exploration to the beginnings of life on Doni's Earth, to the very creation of primordial existence. After a moment, though, the words found her.  
  
"Creb take me through time," she said softly. Daloia's eyes widened in surprise. She, too, had always been at a loss as to how to explain the experience following ingestion of the numinous white root. "I feel cool shade of thick forests, taste ancient red loam, feel salty white foam of sea. I think I am in beginning of time."  
  
"Yes, Ayla," Daloia interrupted quietly. "Those are the effects of the root I have consumed, too. The two plants must be very similar in character to have such similar results on both the children of Nuda and the..Clan. However, though I don't doubt the spiritual power of your Mog- ur, I have a feeling that, due to the Clan's inherent inability to know the Great Earth Mother, his aptitude with the root must have been limited. How could one who does not understand Sunai, or Lun, Duna's pale, golden lover, be able to travel back to the ages when Duna fought for her child, Sunai? How would they understand the great Void when they do not know its nature? Ayla, I believe our two roots are very similar in nature, and I think we should compare their properties to determine their differences. Nuda only exposes us to such sacred magic for very strong purposes."  
  
Ayla nodded once in acquiescence. After turning over the stick of meat that lay over the fire to make sure it cooked evenly, she retreated into her screened dwelling and returned with a strange pouch constructed of a single, hollowed otter hide. Daloia observed it with interest.  
  
"This is medicine bag of Clan," Ayla explained. Daloia nodded, suddenly understanding. "And this," she continued, reaching her hand into the sack, searching, and retrieving a small, red-dyed leather pouch, "is sacred root. Zelandonii word for root is datura."  
  
"Hold on, let me find my medicine belt," Daloia replied, and stretched her arm to salvage the traveling pack that lay a few feet away. "It's in here somewhere.there it is!" She withdrew a belt that was constructed of a wide-cut thong, and included several large leather drawstring pouches that had been sewn on. Ayla noticed the narrowed ends of the belt, and observed an intricate arrangement of colorful beadwork.  
  
"We tie the belt on by this red fringe," Daloia explained, pointing out a characteristic that Ayla had previously missed. "This beadwork symbolizes the many medicinal plants and herbs bestowed upon Nuda's children. Its colors represent the innumerable types of vegetation available to us, and the complex arrangement demonstrates the many intertwined uses for each plant or herb."  
  
"This is..how you say it..ingenious?" Ayla was obviously struggling to find the correct word to describe her admiration for the Daneludoi people's insightful use of beadwork decorations.  
  
Daloia smiled. "I did not design this belt, so I am inclined to agree with you. But this is what I find cleverest: if you look on the inside of the belt, you will see the leather is dyed red. And do you see this carved ivory disc?"  
  
Ayla examined the belt carefully, discovering the existence of a small piece of ivory carefully sewn into the leather. "Yes, I see."  
  
"Let me show you its use," Daloia replied, smiling mysteriously. She pulled at the disc just enough to twist it sideways, and pushed it through what turned out to be a small slit in the leather. She pressed the piece forward just enough to completely extract it from the horizontally cut hole, and Ayla discovered that the ivory served to bind an inner layer and outer layer of leather shut. Her eyes glowed with the innovative concept.  
  
"This method was only invented recently," Daloia explained proudly. "It is a technique distinctive to my people. And let me show you what is inside this belt, that must be stored so protectively." She dipped a forefinger and a thumb between the two layers of leather, and withdrew a white root pinched between her two fingers. "Does this substance look familiar?"  
  
Ayla's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the unmistakable shape. Deftly, she untied the complicated knots holding her own red drawstring pouch closed, and withdrew an identical herb. The colors, the texture, even the scent, still pungent after years of storage, were identical. The hallucinogenic root of the Clan and the special root of the Daneludoi, the Others, were one and the same! 


	5. Beginning of Answers: Future and Past

A/N: Please refer to my profile. It explains a little about my stories, and explains why this story will NOT be finished anytime soon. At least I don't think it will be. (  
  
Ayla stared in wonder from the wiry, parched roots pinched between her fingers to those held between Daloias'. Shocked disbelief pulsed through her mind. She could not believe that the root that she had ingested years ago, resulting in a disturbing mental trip backward through time, was identical to the root which Daloia had described. Instantly, she decided she had to spend much more time getting to know the Daneludoi.  
  
Daloia studied the woman's intense reaction to the discovery. She, too, found herself deeply stunned that the Daneludoi were not, as her people believed, the only of the Earth's Children who made use of the sacred white root.  
  
But as she thought about it further, it began to make sense. Why should the Mother limit the root's wondrous uses to only one of Her tribes, the Daneludoi? In fact, why not make it available to all of Her Children, including flatheads, or the Clan? If they were, in fact, human, as Ayla insisted and as the woman's story asserted, it made sense that they would have established some form of contact with the spirit world.  
  
With a shaking hand, Ayla replaced the datura root in her red ochre- died pouch. The discovery of the herb's evidently wide use, combined with the unpleasant memories associated with its utilization. She tightened the strings, carefully retied the knot, and slipped it back into her otter skin medicine bag.  
  
Ayla stared at the ground, her breaths coming in ragged pants. Her stomach began to quiver, and a sickening, rotting smell filled her nostrils. The sound of ripping earth echoed in her ears, and for the first time, she sensed a human voice, heard a woman crying out in terror. She heard someone call out a name not unlike her own, but pronounced slightly differently, without the guttural intonation.  
  
Shuddering, her fingers searched for something to hold onto, and found a fold of soft leather. She gripped it without being aware of her actions as her vision faded and her world became black.  
  
Ayla stared at a white, translucent liquid sloshing in the ancient wooden bowl. She felt vaguely anxious, aware she had done wrong, but unsure of what she had done. She brought the bowl to her lips and drained the remaining juice. Suddenly, as a bright white light overcame her senses, she collapsed to the ground. The bowl slipped from her fingers, and somewhere in the distance, a thin plate of wood shattered as it hit the hard dirt.  
  
The bright white faded until it became thousands of speckled stars dotting a deep black sky. A cave appeared before Ayla, and the path leading inside was lined with dimly glowing lanterns. An inner force compelled her to follow. She obeyed, staggering from side to side, unsure of her destination, and overwhelmed by a dark sense of foreboding.  
  
Suddenly, she was falling, into an unknown darkness, down a deep abyss, petrified with fear. Then Creb was there, next to her, inside her, with her, guiding her with the flowing light. With him directing her, she felt herself traveling on a strange path back to their shared beginnings, through salt water, through the painful first gulps of air, burrowing into the loamy earth, and flying through high trees.  
  
Then they walked upright on the ground, using two legs, crossing over a great distance, going west toward a great salty sea. They finally arrived at a steep wall facing a river and a flat plain, with a deep alcove under a large overhanging segment. Ayla realized it was the home of some ancient ancestor of his, and at a deeper, more instinctive level, she recognized it as the shelter of a cave bear.  
  
Led by a force stronger than her own will, or the will of her people, or even of the Clan totems, she felt herself turn left in front of the large cave and began traveling parallel to the river. Desperately, she swung her head back, looking for Creb, but he remained standing by the cave, watching her. She flung out an arm for him, but he faded from visibility.  
  
Jondalar appeared suddenly, his arms outstretched, his eyes pleading, and his mouth calling. Ayla couldn't hear him, but she sensed his passionate love, and his overpowering need for her. She dropped the arm that was reaching for Creb, whose presence had faded from her awareness, and reached out to Jondalar instead and caught his hand. Then the river disappeared, and she and Jondalar were standing on a large, high mountain, and Jonayla was with them. She felt Jondalar and herself fade from the bright light that was keeping them warm, and sensed Jonayla taking their place in the foreground of the scene as her daughter stood with her back to them, surveying the expansive plain that stretched out before the mountain. Ayla suddenly felt the youth leave her body, but it was replaced by a deep, insurmountable pride as she observed her daughter.  
  
Suddenly she was jarred back to the memories of ripping earth, foul stenches, and shrill, terrifying screams. She found herself stuck in a dark crevice, surrounded by sulfuric earth, choking and suffocating as the loam filled her mouth, her ears, her eyes. Against her will, she opened her eyes, and expected herself to be blinded as the stinging soil pressed against her sensitive eyeball tissue. However, she saw someone before her, and concentrated on the face to discern who they were. The features were mangled, beginning to decompose, and the eyes were squeezed shut. The face was contorted in an expression of agony, the mouth open in a desperate effort to breathe though the loam obviously clogged the airway passage. When her eyes focused, she realized with a jolt that the person, a woman, bore a face almost identical to her own. She knew immediately who the woman was, and an electrifying shock of terror suffused her body.  
  
"Mother! Motherrrrr! I know! I know!" Ayla screamed, and coughed. She opened her eyes, but her vision was heavily obscured by flowing tears. She wiped the warm liquid from her eyes and sat up, sobbing with the realization of what had happened to her family over twenty years ago. 


	6. Jonayla's Beginning

"Ayla! Ayla! Are you okay? Why are you calling your mother?" Daloia asked loudly, shaking the woman by her shoulders slightly. She had heard Ayla call out for her mother in the Daneludoi tongue, and had also picked up a couple words that sounded like they were from the Zelandonii language.  
Ayla clung to the woman, trembling violently. Tears blurred her vision, and her eyes still ached slightly from the sensation of the tissue contact with the subterranean soil. For a moment she could not speak, and was completely overwhelmed with the discovery which she had just made.  
Daloia stroked Ayla's soft blonde locks of hair in a motherly gesture, aware that the woman who seemed so foreign yet so incredibly familiar had just experienced a powerfully painful vision. She sensed it had something to do with the disappearance of the three-person family that had occurred twenty-three years ago.  
After managing several harsh, ragged breaths, Ayla coughed and began to speak. "I saw my mother again, Daloia," she breathed. "I have had many, many nightmares about the earthquake that took my parents' lives. When the earthquake started, I was...I was.... O Great Doni, I was gathering little pebbles," she gasped, fresh tears streaming from her eyes in recognition of a long-buried memory. "I was a little five-year, and I was gathering small stones from a river I found nearby our encampment... well, I suppose now it was actually a small stream, but I was so small it looked like a large river. I had arranged them in this little pile, and then it began to crumble.  
"What did I know of earthquakes? I had never experienced one. The earth moves, and tumbles, and rolls, and one cannot stand on it." Ayla's face grew pale as she recounted the story for the first time in her life, which Daloia noticed. The Daneludoi woman, however, understood Ayla's horrified description of the experience, because it had been the first experience of its kind for a five-year-old child, and therefore all the more terrifying, plus the natural phenomenon had stripped a young girl of her family and cast her into a completely unfamiliar and unwelcoming environment with no apparent means of survival for a child of her resources.  
"I began to stumble my way back to my family's encampment, but before my very eyes, the earth opened and swallowed the shelter - the Mamutoi word for it is a lean-to - right before my very eyes." The woman abruptly ceased her narration, and a contracted expression of intense physical pain suffused her features. Her arms folded around her stomach, gesturing a centering of pain in her abdominal region, and she quickly turned from Daloia and vomited onto a patch of bare stone.  
Quickly, calmly, Daloia got up to retrieve two large bowls for the woman, one filled with fresh water to rinse her mouth and one to spit the extra fluids into. As Ayla gratefully accepted the bowls, Daloia reached into her bag and retrieved a length of soft absorbent leather. She soaked it with water from her water bag made of an aurochs' stomach lining, and got up to find some soaproot.  
Jondalar met her as she was passing the dwellings. Not knowing how to communicate in the Daneludoi tongue, he tapped Daloia on the arm and inquired, "Ayla?"  
The woman silently pointed to the blonde woman, who was kneeling over one bowl and spitting fluid into it as she washed her mouth with water from another in her hands. Jondalar hurried over.  
"Ayla? Are you okay?" Jondalar inquired, his brows knitting together in an expression of concern.  
When Ayla had rinsed her mouth satisfactorily, she looked up at Jondalar. She tried to smile in greeting, but the shock of the vision and the physical pain and foul taste of vomiting replaced a smile with a weary grimace. With difficulty, she turned her eyes to meet his and focused on their unbelievably blue depths. "Not now," she groaned.  
"Ayla! What's that on your breath? Are you sick?" he asked worriedly.  
"Threw up," she replied, closing her eyes with the pain of exertion involved in talking.  
"O Doni! Should I get Zelandoni?"  
Ayla shook her head slowly and gestured toward their dwelling. "You just want to lie down?" The woman nodded and looked up to see that Daloia was standing over both of them.  
Jondalar picked his mate up and carried her into their dwelling. Its walls were made of strategically placed screens of animal hide, and its floors were lime flagstone with hardened river clay filling in the spaces. The dwelling had been divided into two sides; on one side, Jondalar and Ayla slept together and stored their belongings. On this side, shelves which had been empty when Jondalar first surprised Ayla with her new dwelling, were now filled with all manner of various items, including small baskets woven by Ayla during spare time, and stones and other artifacts which Jonayla had found on her frequent short journeys down the Great Mother River. Off to the side was a platform, on which cool summer sleeping furs had been neatly folded.  
On the other side of the dwelling, where Jonayla slept, the small shelf stood neatly packed with objects like those in her parents' room, collected from the terrain surrounding the Ninth Cave. A platform like that of her parents', only a smaller version, was situated to the side of the dwelling, and was heaped with immaculately folded sleeping furs.  
As Jondalar carried his mate into their portion of the apartment, Jonayla, who had been examining her shelves of belongings to ensure everything was displayed together according to species of animal bone, type of stone, or shape of leaf, peered around her screen and got up to see what was going on. Her eyes widened and she slowly approached her mother, whom Jondalar had laid upon the furs. "Mother?" she inquired fearfully.  
Daloia laid a gentle hand on the young girl's shoulder in a gesture of reassuring affection. After a quick glance at the unfamiliar woman with her startlingly blue eyes, Jonayla turned her gaze to the woman who had represented comfort and nurture for the duration of her 6-year life, knowing that more was at hand than a stomachache. Looking back up at Daloia and reading the woman's uneasy but contemplative expression with intuition inherited from her mother, Jonayla wondered if her mother had made another journey to the spirit world. Such journeys always denied Ayla a portion of her strength, and the child realized, both with her innate perception and perhaps something more, that something truly phenomenal, something beyond anything which her mother had described or thought possible to occur, must have happened. She wondered with a sudden, icy chill, whether her mother would soon walk in the world of spirits permanently. 


End file.
